


Broken down on Memory Lane

by Curious_Reader



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 06:53:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curious_Reader/pseuds/Curious_Reader
Summary: his is Broken down on Memory Lane: A Hallmark-esque cheesy, silly and hopefully fun story. There might be more, otherwise this is just my one-shot version of a direct to video trailer.





	Broken down on Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2018 Outlander Secret Santa fanfiction exchange

While she enjoyed a facial as much as the next gal, sitting on the side of the road with a steaming engine was not how she had hoped to accomplish that, this weekend. Claire swatted away the steam again in a vain attempt to see what had happened to her car. She found it funny, almost, just how cliché this image was. She had seen it a thousand times in TV and movies. A girl stranded on the side of the road, hood up and steam/smoke billowing out of the car, the flat beautiful landscape in the distance. Any moment now a handsome young man would come to her rescue and they would drive off into the sunset happily ever after.

Claire, however, was never that lucky. The tow truck she had called said they would be here in an hour. That was two and a half hours ago, and if absolutely nothing else, the day was rapidly dwindling away, and she had run out of tea to keep the chill away. If she was also being honest, she would have admit she had no earthly idea where she was. For that and the absolute blind rage, she would blame Frank.

Frank was an on again, off again, office fling that had started a year or so ago at an office holiday party that was known for having a bit too much holiday cheer in the punch bowl. Things had been going well enough. They’d fight and break up, but it never seemed to blend into their work. Until today, it would seem. Aside from Frank and her as a couple and the associated issues, her rage was a direct reaction to learning that Frank Randall had wooed and landed a big account using the ideas she had run past him at dinner last week. Learning that bit of news was a gut punch Clare hadn’t been expecting. She kept her cool, cleared her desk, and left. She drove until she suddenly realized maybe her car needed a break as it sputtered and jolted to a stop on the side of the road…next to, well, nothing it would seem except fields and perhaps a few cows.

She had checked her phone and realized what bars she had once had seemed to have disappeared, along with her Hope's of a tow. She figured the only way she'd swe signal was if she stood on tippy toes on the roof of her car, she might get a bar, maybe. Though, she had the sneaking suspicion that even that small miracle would come with the price of her first born or a willing virgin but looking around again she sighed and came to the secure belief that those would be hard to come by in these parts. So, she did what every strong-willed woman in movies and TV did, she popped the hood, fished out her flash light and looked around.

Claire had grown up with her uncle and he was very much the “Why pay someone when you can do it yourself” kind of guy. So, despite how she may look and come off, she really was a handy person to have around. But be that as it may, once the steam had fully cleared, she knew she was good and stuck. Handy she may be, but there was no MacGyvering her was out of a blown head gasket. She kicked her car, and cursed the world, Frank, the field, and the cows! When none of that worked, she pulled all the warm things out of her car, bundled up and decided that, before trying to walk anywhere for help, she might have a go at the standing on the roof thing. The view was lovely, but no signal was to be found. However, as she jutted her hand toward the sky one last time in hopes of phoning home, a pair of headlights caught her by surprise. Claire was so caught up in her task and the general crumminess of the day that when the lights came into her view she jolted, lost her footing and fell off her car.

Wiping away the mud and grime off her face, she tried to make out the words being yelled at her. Maybe she had hit her head or the mud (because of course there would be mud in a field on the side of the road!) had gotten into her ears. She tried to clear them and made to stand up.

A bushy-bearded man came running towards her shouting in what she now gathered was Gaelic. How she remembered that she'd never know. She hadn't heard it since she was in school. Lamb and she had lived in the highlands when she was around 12 to 17. They had left suddenly, she didn't even get to say goodbye. At the time that had killed her. She had been madly in love with Jamie Fraser, the literal “boy next door.” They had a fast and devastating love. But that had been years ago. She doubted she’d even recognize him, let alone believe he was still around.

“Lass, Lass are you alright!?” the sudden shift to English broke her out of her daydreams.

“Oh yes, I am sorry. Thank you for stopping! I looked around and it seems as though I may have blown a gasket.”

Claire didn’t think the man meant to show his surprise, but his eyes went wide at her clearly English accent. Fighting the chuckle threatening to escape, she coughed, stuck out her hand, and introduced herself.  
“I apologize, where are my manners today? I’m Claire. Claire Beauchamp.”  
At hearing her name, the still unidentified man’s eyebrows disappeared completely into his hairline. He seemed to quickly compose himself and stuck his own hand out.

“Murtagh,” he grumbled, “It’s good to be reacquainted with you.”  
It was Claire’s turn to be stunned, but before she could say anything further, he had already turned towards his truck.  
“Come on, curly wig. I’ll give you a lift into town. The local shop will get your car tomorrow. Late as it is, there’s little to be done about it now, except find ye a good meal and warm bed.”  
“Do… do I know you?” Claire hadn’t been called that in so long she had completely forgotten about it. So, whether she remembered this man or not, he clearly knew her. That still didn’t necessarily warrant just hopping into his car though. She was hesitant until, instead of answering her questions, the man asked his own.  
“Come now. Will you tell me how Lamb is doing? He’s been missed.”  
Nothing felt real to Claire anymore, but knowing this man knew and seemed to care for Lamb allowed her the courage to nod, grab her things from her car and hop into the front.

Murtagh and Claire talked the whole way into town. It was odd but comfortable, and exactly like catching up with an old friend. 45 minutes or so later she noticed that her surroundings were beginning to look familiar, and when they had passed what she realized was her old school, she was having trouble breathing. While Claire had traveled all over the world, she had never planned to come back here. She had outgrown it, this was forever ago. There was nothing here for her, right?  
She didn’t notice that the truck had stopped until the driver’s side door had slammed closed. Her head bolted up and she noticed her driver was gone and they had parked in front of the local auto repair shop and across the road from a small inviting-looking B&B. Shuffling out of the truck, she grabbed her things and tried to find Murtagh to thank him for his ride and assistance, but just as suddenly as he had come, he seemed to have vanished. She made her way to the inn and secured a room from the most motherly women she had ever met, a Mrs. Fitz. She couldn’t wait to chat more with her, but that would have to wait until later. Praying the auto shop was open until 5, she rushed across the street with a full three minutes to spare.  
Barreling through the door, the bell damn near ripping from its posts above the door. She slammed against the counter and rang the bell as quickly as possible while frantically digging in her purse to find what information may be needed. A large hand covered hers and if the rush of familiarity didn’t immediately prove her earlier self wrong the voice attached to it did.  
“Jesus, Claire. You haven’t changed a bit, you’re still as impatient as ever.”  
Taking a breath to try and calm her sudden nausea she looked up and met the eyes of her “what if?”  
“Hello, Jamie. It’s good to see you.”  
She'd be damned. She did recognize him, her very own handsome leading man; come to her rescue!


End file.
